


Deserving Him

by Tahlruil



Series: Winding Roads to Flowering Fields [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: How Do I Tag, Hurt Stiles, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Peter Hale, Morally Ambiguous Stiles Stilinski, POV Peter Hale, Peter Hale Feels, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Pre-Slash, Scott is a Bad Friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 07:31:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12700266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tahlruil/pseuds/Tahlruil
Summary: 'Scott couldn't even seem to live comfortably in his world of black and white absolutes. He could understand why the Lahey boy had broken with Derek, he supposed - his nephew was never meant to be an Alpha, and that had always been painfully obvious. What Peter didn't understand was why he'd then put himself deliberately in Scott's pack. He didn't understand why anyone would align themselves with someone so pathetic when it came to leading others. He didn't understand why new betas, humans and other supernaturals alike flocked to him, an Alpha who had no true understanding of what it meant to bepack. Peter didn't understand whyStiles- beautiful, intelligent, deadly Stiles - chose to call Scott his Alpha.'Peter has been watching Stiles for quite some time now, and he has trouble understanding why Stiles chooses to align himself with Scott. The McCall Alpha doesn't even seem to notice that his best friend is still reeling from his encounter with the Nogitsune... or that Peter is the one trying to soothe that hurt.Stiles, Peter is sure, deserves better.





	Deserving Him

**Author's Note:**

> Uhm. First fic in the fandom, trying to find my footing and figure stuff out. Gonna fling this into the void, then flee for a while. Be kind maybe?
> 
> Only about halfway through watching the third season but have utterly spoiled myself on the Wiki - if I really fuck anything up that happens after that beyond recognition though, please let me know so I can try to fix it/improve.
> 
> Unbeta'd and super under-edited, just a warning. XD I literally wrote it, read it back once and then posted. So yeah.
> 
> Comments maybe? <3

For a 'True Alpha', Scott McCall was woefully neglectful of his pack. It was bad enough that he'd simply let the Lahey boy go - Peter didn't even _like_ him, had never really considered him pack, but he knew the boy had thought of Scott as his Alpha. An Alpha who hadn't even tried to keep him. Probably because of the Argent girl - Scott had always been obsessed with her to the point of self-destruction. It shouldn't have mattered though - one Hunter child should not have overshadowed the bond of _pack_. Peter hated Talia and her perfection more often than not, but she was still his Alpha; he'd still done everything in his power to keep her and the rest of their pack safe.

Perhaps some of his machinations had been a bit more self-serving than was necessary, but none of it had _ever_ harmed his family or the Hale pack. Well, not before the fire, at least. Killing Laura to gain the Alpha spark afterwards would always be the one action he'd taken that caused him doubt. She had abandoned him, left him alone... but she'd been pack. Peter didn't completely regret the action he'd taken against her, but it didn't sit completely easily with him either. She inhabited the same grey area as Talia in his emotions.

He'd learned long ago to live with that grey space.

Scott couldn't even seem to live comfortably in his world of black and white absolutes. He could understand why the Lahey boy had broken with Derek, he supposed - his nephew was never meant to be an Alpha, and that had always been painfully obvious. What Peter didn't understand was why he'd then put himself deliberately in Scott's pack. He didn't understand why anyone would align themselves with someone so pathetic when it came to leading others. He didn't understand why new betas, humans and other supernaturals alike flocked to him, an Alpha who had no true understanding of what it meant to be _pack_. Peter didn't understand why _Stiles_ \- beautiful, intelligent, deadly Stiles - chose to call Scott his Alpha.

Maybe he was a 'creeper-wolf', as the teen sometimes called him, but his lurking served a purpose. He'd seen more than the sorry excuses for werewolves in Beacon Hills would be comfortable with, Peter was sure of that much. Their interactions, their relationships, their insecurities... all of it had played out before his eyes since he'd first bitten Scott. Nothing - _nothing_ had fascinated him more than the boy who'd spurned his bite; he watched Stiles more than anyone else as a result. He had watched Scott turn away from Stiles - his supposed best friend - in favor of a pretty face. A pretty face attached to a Hunter at that, one who'd proven more than once that she was a few bad days away from becoming another Kate Argent. Again and again he'd sidelined Stiles, and the other teen had simply allowed it.

Stiles, unlike Scott, understood the value of loyalty.

It would always sting, the way Stiles had rejected his bite in the parking garage. Of everyone left in the Godforsaken town of Beacon Hills, Stiles was the only one _worthy_ of the bite. He was already magnificent, more wolf than Scott McCall ever would be - Peter would have been honored to have all that beautiful, vicious loyalty as his own. Peter would have given Stiles everything he deserved in return for it; he would have taken care of Stiles, would have _loved_ him the way the boy clearly needed. It wasn't about sex, never about sex - he was not Kate Argent and never would be. It was about intimacy, touching and being touched, knowing that come hell or high water someone was _there_. Stiles deserved at least that much.

Instead he had an Alpha who regarded him as a backup plan whenever a pretty face caught his eye. Stiles had an Alpha who consistently ignored his advice - solid advice that showed a breathtaking grasp of the situations they so often found themselves in. Stiles followed a snot-nosed brat who never even noticed the way Gerard had hurt him.

Peter had noticed. Peter had asked. Stiles had given him a crooked little grin, whiskey eyes flashing with an emotion he couldn't decipher, and shrugged. "Lacrosse is a rough game," he'd said as he let Peter grab his chin and turn his face so Peter could take a better look. The scent of Gerard Argent clung to him, and Peter didn't buy the story for a moment. "Now stop with the touching, zombie-wolf, so I can go ice it. It's fine. I'm fine, it's fine, Gerard is _fine_ ," Peter bit back the urge to offer to find the old man and rip his throat out for harming Stiles - he doubted the boy would appreciate it. "Jackson and Lydia are fine and - oh, good - making out now, that's... that's fine too. Everyone's fine!" he'd said, limbs flailing in a way that Peter already associated with the boy. "Fine all around. Are you fine? Hop on the fine train, Peter, we're all there!" The boy had pulled away, continuing to rant about how everyone - Scott and Allison, their relationship, Derek, Beacon Hills, Deaton... everyone and everything - was 'fine' the whole way out of the building.

Peter hadn't stopped him, hadn't pressed. What he had done was keep watch.

Through all the Alpha Pack nonsense, the mess with Jennifer - really, Peter was going to start killing anyone Derek took a fancy to as a preventative measure - the episode with the Nogitsune... Peter watched. He even helped Stiles with the possession, pretending to do it for a reason beyond the beautiful, loyal boy who deserved so much better than the pack he'd chosen to gift that loyalty to. He'd watched Scott and everyone in their circle shy away from Stiles in the fallout, watched as Stiles blamed himself for everything that had happened with no one to firmly tell him otherwise. He saw the way Stiles - beautiful, broken, loyal Stiles - was pushed onto the same fringes that Peter himself occupied. It wasn't _right_.

Scott McCall was a terrible Alpha, and he didn't deserve the gift that was Mieczyslaw Stilinski. Even now, months after the fact, he was ignoring the clear pain that his supposed best friend and brother was in. Stiles still wasn't sleeping or eating the way he should, wasting away in front of a pack who looked the other way. His rapid-fire speech held a new, desperate edge, his whiskey eyes so often wild with a hint of fear. Even the way he fidgeted and flailed was different, a cry for help that no one but Peter seemed to even hear.

Peter hated them for it, because he doubted Stiles would allow himself to do so.

He couldn't help as much as he would have liked - the whole 'pack' still regarded him with suspicion. Rightly so, of course, since he wouldn't lift a finger to help most of them unless Stiles asked him to. None of them deserved his loyalty, none of them but the boy who had been laying on his bed for almost two hours, staring up at the ceiling, too scared of what he might become when he closed his eyes to sleep. They didn't deserve Peter and they didn't come close to deserving Stiles, but his boy still craved their acceptance. That meant Peter could help only from the shadows, during the times when the pack and Sheriff Stilinski were focused on other, less important matters.

"Zombie-wolf?"

It was all the invitation Peter needed - and he didn't enter without one, since he had manners no matter what some people believed of him. He crawled in the open window and shut it behind him, toeing his shoes off as he approached the bed. It creaked and dipped when Peter sat at the boy's side, immediately burying his left hand in the thick, tousled brown locks. "Hello Stiles."

"You're always there," the boy accused, trying and failing to hide how pleased he was by that. "Way to play the creepy uncle role to a T. I feel like Bella, or how Bella _should_ have felt with a supernatural stalker, anyway, which is less swoon-ey and more creeped out. That should be the reaction, right? Who wants a vampire - werewolf in your case, whatever, same thing - hanging around outside their window every night? Not me. Nope. Definitely not. Peter?"

"Oh, are we talking to me tonight?"

"I talk to you every night," he lied, ignoring those nights when he was so far gone that all Peter could do was curl around him and hold him until he finally fell asleep around dawn. "Because you're _always_ there. You're Edward, dude."

"Don't call me--"

"Dude, I know, I know. But I do all the time and you never actually do anything about it, so it's fine," his tongue darted out to lick his lips, a tic Peter had noticed usually preceded Stiles asking for something he didn't think he'd get. "Do you think... I mean, are you hungry? Dad was at the station for dinner today, so I only made enough for me," another half-lie - Peter could smell the half-eaten sandwich even if he hadn't watched the boy pick at it for several hours. "But I probably have stuff downstairs that you could make if you were--"

"I'll be back soon," Peter interrupted, running his fingers through Stiles' hair and then down his cheek, leaving his scent behind. It was another thing McCall missed, another sign that he had no business claiming the title of Alpha. He didn't ask before he flipped the light on as he left - the scent of Stiles' relief filled the air as soon as he did, just like it did on every night they played out this particular routine. Peter even grabbed the plate Stiles had brought to his room earlier to dispose of the remains - washing it, however, was left for Stiles to do the next morning. All the dishes would be.

It was the way this thing between them worked.

Peter knew the Stilinski house well enough that he didn't turn on any of the lights until he got to the kitchen. The curtains meant any passersby would think it was Stiles moving through the room, cooking something at an ungodly hour. No one would suspect it was Peter, not even the ones that should. Despite his difficulty eating, Stiles always kept the pantry well-stocked, likely to feed his father if not himself. That made cooking a heart-healthy meal easy; Peter just made enough for three, storing a portion away for the Sheriff to eat later. Peter cared about Stiles and Stiles cared for his father - providing for the man when he could do so without calling attention to himself only felt natural. The two other portions were carried up to Stiles' bedroom to the waiting boy who was still too afraid of himself to sleep.

Stiles was in bed when Peter returned, at least, though his laptop was open and on his lap, fingers flying across the keyboard.

"Stiles?"

"Did you know that newborn wolves can't urinate until their mother massages their bellies with her tongue?"

It was on of _those_ nights. "No, actually. You may have trouble grasping this, but being a born werewolf does not automatically make me an expert on wolves. The two are not in fact interchangeable."

His only answer was a grunt, thought Stiles did dart a quick look up at him. In the light he was too pale, the circles under his eyes too dark. Peter wanted to trace a path between all those delightful moles with his fingers, maybe even his tongue... but not until his boy was better. Not until Stiles gained back the weight he'd lost and was pink with good health, laughing happily as Peter touched him. Until then, it was strictly food and cuddles. Anything _beyond_ tracing those beautiful marks on his skin could wait until the boy was a man and decided he wanted to touch Peter.

"Why are you telling me about the pissing habits of wolves, Stiles?" he asked with a poor attempt at patience, closing the bedroom door behind him.

"School's gonna start back up soon. We always have a report due in economics at the end of the first week."

"... and?"

"And Finstock doesn't want to know anything more about male circumcision?" Stiles told him, an unspoken 'duh' in his words as he finally looked away from the screen to watch Peter approach. He looked so _tired_ , but Peter could also hear his stomach gurgling, and Stiles seemed to need to eat with someone to eat anything at all, so tucking the boy into bed and cuddling him to sleep would have to wait.

"What is the report actually supposed to be about?" Stiles only shrugged bony shoulders, too thin even hidden by a baggy shirt. "Stiles, sweetheart," he crooned, wolf giving a joyful yip when a lovely flush colored those too-pale cheeks at the endearment. "However do you manage to _pass_?"

"I test well. Plus most of the teachers know I know the material and I'm not exactly a joy to have in class, what with the talking and the twitching and the clicking. Do you know Harris wouldn't let me have clicky pens anymore?" he asked, sounding so deeply affronted that Peter wished the man was still alive so he could offer to kill him. "If I didn't have something to write with and all anyone had to offer was a pen that clicked, I wasn't allowed to have it. I'm pretty sure that's discrimination, but whatever. Hopefully the next chemistry teacher won't be such a douche. The point is that I'm too annoying to hold back now that I'm not so adorable."

Peter doubted Stiles would ever not be adorable, but humans were rather stupid. Maybe they couldn't see it the way he could. "I see. Continue with your crusade of annoyance then. Do let me know if you'd like someone to proofread your reports. I used to be rather good with a red pen." Peter offered one of the plates he was carrying to Stiles, who shut his laptop and put it aside with only a minimal bit of grumbling. When he took the plate, Peter flashed him his 'charming' smile. "There we are. Good boy."

"Dude. Don't make this creepier."

"Ah ah ah. You're edging close to kinkshaming there, Stiles." The boy snorted, fork halfway to his mouth.

"Edging. I see what you did there," he said around his bite, causing Peter to roll his eyes at him. The gesture was fond, even if no one but Stiles would be able to see that.

"I didn't mean anything of the sort. It's just that your teenage mind is always living in the gutter." Not lately though - it was another thing Peter missed. He didn't want the scent of Stiles' arousal for himself; he wanted it because it meant Stiles was finally moving on. The return of a healthy libido might mean Stiles was - at long, long last - done punishing himself for what the Nogistune had done while wearing his skin. "Now stop being disgusting and eat your food like a civilized person."

Stiles stuck his tongue out but followed the playful order. Peter and his wolf preened at the display of trust, at the acceptance of what Peter could provide. No one else took care of Stiles the way he did - no one else was even given the opportunity. His friends, his 'Alpha' could not recognize the way he struggled and so Stiles would not tell them or ask for their aid. Peter had seen, Peter had asked... so Stiles allowed Peter close enough to help him.

He let Peter sit on the edge of his bed, eating only because it meant Stiles would do the same. He talked widely around what was actually bothering him, but he spoke without the desperate neediness that permeated his interactions with the rest of the pack. His flailing was almost back to normal Stiles-levels of movement, and as he ate the last few bites of his second dinner the wildness was bleeding from his eyes, drowsiness taking its place. Stiles handed his plate off to Peter without comment, but when his grabbing of his laptop prompted Peter to growl at him, the teen rolled his eyes.

"I used to stay up like this all the time," he argued, laptop on his lap but not opened. "It's not a bit deal. I'll just adjust my med intake tomorrow, it'll be fine."

"You should take them as prescribed, darling, the commercials are quite clear about that. Besides, I know my doctor got a bit... testy when I stopped eating my pills obediently."

"Did you eat him for it?"

"That would be telling," he said, flashing a bit of fang as he grabbed one side of the computer. Stiles only grinned - might have even laughed if he hadn't been interrupted by a yawn. "Now give me the laptop and I won't have to hurt anyone in this room."

"Won't hurt me anyway," Stiles argued, trying half-heartedly to yank the computer away from Peter. "I'm pack."

"Yes," Peter agreed, knowing his eyes had turned beta-blue and unable to help it. " _You_ , Stiles Stilinski, are pack."

Stiles was pack - only Stiles. He was the only one who deserved Peter's (somewhat twisted) loyalty. The rest of Beacon Hills could burn for all he cared. He only stayed because Stiles couldn't yet leave. Maybe the boy heard all the words they continued to leave unspoken, because he began to blush again. He also reluctantly let go of his laptop and, as Peter set it and their plates on his desk, crawled under the covers. Turning off the light brought a slight, bitter-smelling twist of fear from Stiles; to soothe him, Peter began a rolling rumble deep in his chest.

He kept it up as he pulled off his belt and his jeans - it would make his sleep and Stiles' sleep more comfortable. It wasn't until he'd climbed into bed and under the covers behind Stiles that he let the sound fade away. The fear made a brief reappearance, until Peter had one arm wrapped around Stiles' waist, anchoring him to the bed... to Peter. The rest of Stiles' tension, his fear, drained away; with a long sigh he melted into the mattress and shut his eyes.

"Don't let me hurt anyone," he mumbled, sleepiness already adding a touch of a slur to the words.

"No one who doesn't deserve it," Peter answered, just the way he always did. He could almost hear Stiles smiling in response. The Nogitsune wouldn't care about whether or not someone 'deserved' to be hurt or killed; Scott would argue exclusively for talking and peace. Peter and Stiles, however, knew how to live in all the shades of grey that life offered. Some people deserved to be hurt. Some people deserved to die.

"... Peter?"

"Stiles?" he murmured against the back of the boy's neck, nuzzling his skin and mingling their scents. Perhaps Scott and the 'pack' didn't realize it, but any outside were would know just from smelling either of them that they belonged to each other.

"Do you think I'll ever believe it's really gone? Enough to... to smile and eat and sleep. Sleep without you, I mean. Like a normal person."

"I'm a selfish man, Stiles. I hope you can never sleep without me again. But yes, the feeling will fade. The Nogitsune is gone and you _are not responsible for what it did_. You don't believe it because our... 'Alpha' doesn't believe it. Once he does," once the memories faded, more like, once Kira's face replaced Allison's in Scott's dreams. "Once he knows it and stops shying away you'll believe it too."

Stiles shifted, the way he always did, trying over and over to find the perfect position. He never would, and even once he was asleep his long limbs would continue their restless movement. Peter loved it, loved the _life_ that filled his boy. "... it was my fau--"

"It was not your fault," Peter said, a growl in his voice. "You forgave me my rampage because I was crazed. You were not even _present_ when the Nogitsune acted. You are not to blame, there is nothing to forgive, and it was not your fault."

The noise Stiles made was skeptical, but not as much as it had been when they started this unspoken arrangement of support and caring. Sighing, Peter pulled him a little closer, holding him tight enough that it might leave faint bruises. Stiles didn't seem to mind when it happened, even appeared to revel in the proof that someone cared enough to touch him.

"Any pack, any Alpha, would be lucky to have you, Stiles," he whispered into the dark. He brought his hand to Stiles' left shoulder, then stroked down until he could wrap his fingers around the boy's wrist. Peter squeezed gently, reminding them both of the night Peter had offered him something infinitely more intimate, more meaningful, than what he'd been willing to give to Scott. "I would still offer you the bite, Stiles. I still want you."

He'd murmured the words over and over, trying to help Stiles understand that - for Peter at least - nothing had changed. Stiles was still the beautiful, intelligent, deadly person that Peter had been so intrigued by in the very beginning. If he somehow managed to become Alpha again, Peter knew he would court Stiles as his beta with all the care and consideration he deserved. Stiles would give any pack he acknowledged _everything_. He would make a magnificent wolf, but even if he never wanted the bite, never wanted to be more than human... Peter would still want him as a beta. He would take Stiles as whoever, whatever Stiles wanted to be.

Peter wanted to be worthy of everything Stiles would offer his Alpha. He wanted to be able to howl that victory, that _gift_ until the whole world knew what was in his possession.

He wasn't an Alpha, but Stiles still saw him as pack - Peter would, for the moment, take what he could get.

The words were the completion of their nightly ritual. Even on the nights that Stiles couldn't speak, Peter would whisper them in his ear, desperate to make the boy understand his own worth. Now that they'd been spoken, Stiles would finally be free to slip away into a light sleep that Peter would protect with his life. Any time a nightmare threatened, he would nose the boy's collarbone and whisper soft, caring words until his dreams eased. The merest whimper of distress, the slightest increase in his heartbeat, would have Peter alert and eager to soothe away Stiles' discomfort. If Derek or Scott ever climbed through the window after Peter had finally, _finally_ helped the teen drift off, he would rip them limb from limb.

Ready for the rest of the night ahead, Peter gave the boy's wrist one last squeeze before wrapping an arm around him again. He could hear Stiles' heartbeat - a little faster than usual at this point, but not enough to really worry him - and feel the way his limbs were still limp and tension free. Everything was going the way it was supposed to, the way Peter was accustomed to. All was well.

Until Stiles, beautiful, clever, infuriating boy, opened his mouth.

"I think...." he started, a hint of wonder, disbelief even, in his voice. Stiles had brought one hand to Peter's arm, another new, exciting thing, fingers running up and down his forearm in an abstract pattern. "I think I'd fight Scott for you."

Peter went momentarily stiff as his wolf _howled_ in victory, fighting the urge to shift, to mark, to claim. Thankfully he was able to relax before Stiles fed off his tension, but he knew he was definitely holding Stiles tight enough that his lovely skin would be bruised. He couldn't help himself - he brought his fangs to the side of Stiles' neck, brushing over the skin without biting down, feeling the boy shiver against him.

They stayed like that for several heartbeats that took an eternity until Peter finally convinced himself to pull back. He couldn't keep from rumbling happily, possessively as he ran his face against Stile's neck and shoulders instead, wanting everyone to read their scents and _know_. "Yeah," Stiles decided out loud, chuckling a little. "I'd fight Scott for you, zombiewolf. Even if you are creepy as fuck. You're mine."

"Maybe you're mine," Peter answered without denying, hating just a little how damned pleased he sounded. Stiles, bless him, just chuckled again, snuggling back against Peter. His fingers slid down until his hand was covering Peter's and he could tangle their fingers together. Peter allowed it, soaking in the press of Stiles' arm over his, the way his boy allowed him so close when everyone else was kept at a distance.

For his own sanity, he ignored the sleepy, barely-there 'maybe' that Stiles mumbled in return. It was time to let the boy sleep, and it was time for Peter to make plans. Killing Scott would probably be a step too far - he doubted Stiles would approve - but there were other ways. Once Stiles didn't need him quite so much, once his boy could sleep through a night or two without him... well. There were more Alphas in the world than Scott McCall, and Peter could find them. He could even take his time and find one as terrible at filling the role as Scott was, or he could find an Alpha without a pack; in either case, killing them would be a mercy, and then...

Then he could give Stiles everything he deserved from a pack.

Someday, when Stiles was older, after they'd been part of a strong, healthy pack for a few years, Peter would ask him for more. When his boy was a man, Peter would hunt stag to offer Stiles its heart and, in doing so, offer his own along with it. One day, when he was Alpha and Stiles was old enough, Peter would offer Stiles _everything_.

Stiles - beautiful, intelligent, deadly, loyal Stiles - deserved nothing less.

**Author's Note:**

> So. Yeah. First fic for Teen Wolf - if you want to prompt me for any pairing with Stiles or something from the other fandoms I participate in (namely Marvel and Dragon Age) you can send me stuff in my [Tumblr askbox](http://tahlreth.tumblr.com). Right now is NaNo and I'm doing fic stuff, so it's a good time to throw prompts my way.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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